


Omertà

by LWritesx



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Falling In Love, False Identity, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied Sexual Content, Innuendo, Italian Character(s), Italian Mafia, Italian-American Character, Kissing, M/M, Made For Each Other, Minor Character Death, Multi, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other: See Story Notes, So many tropes, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 21:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16689154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWritesx/pseuds/LWritesx
Summary: Omertà :: Often defined as the Italian Code of Honor and Silence.Or, the story of what happens to friends on the run from a powerful gang-- The Circle-- who manage to find themselves under the protection of the enigmaticfamigliaLightwood.





	Omertà

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:  
> -gore and violence  
> -shooting/gun violence  
> -kidnapping  
> -implied one sided jace/alec

MEET ROBERT LIGHTWOOD: NEW YORK'S NEWEST GOVERNOR.

_ ROBERT LIGHTWOOD: THE MAN BEHIND THE CAMPAIGN. _

**THE RACE FOR NEW YORK: ROBERT LIGHTWOOD WINS AMIDST BITTER RACE AGAINST EMERY QUEEN**

Published: Nov 9th, 2017.

After months of tireless campaigning, Democrat Robert Lightwood has won the governorship of the state of New York in the 2017 Gubernatorial Elections. Mr. Lightwood, 42, won by a landslide against rival Republican Emery Queen. Among his political agenda for his four year term are: better healthcare and education policies, immigrant and LGBTQIA+ rights, anti-discrimination policies, women's rights, justice reform and renewable energy. He is set to be inaugurated into office on January 9th, 2018. In light of Mr. Lightwood's victory, all eyes now turn to his eldest son, philanthropist, political activist and entrepreneur, Alexander Lightwood, 25, as he is expected to run for congress after his father's term, provided that the elder Lightwood does not rerun. 

♤♤♤

She breathes roughly, running her hands through her red frostbitten hair. Wild green eyes grab around the inside of her black backpack as she searches for her phone. 

There it is.

She pulls it out. Her battery is at 20%, but that would have to do. She dials a number and begins to speak before the smooth, masculine voice can greet her.

"W-we need to go. They've found us," she's struggling to keep her voice calm, but she knows he can hear the rising hysteria and panic in her voice, "They got my mom... They killed Dot."

"Oh my God," despair colors the voice at the other end of the line, "Oh my God, we need to run.. and we can't leave behind anything they can use to track us down."

She pushes back the image of her dead friend, eyes open, lips parted. Body carelessly strewn on the ground in the balcony. Blood pooling behind her head, trickling from the small puncture between her eyes. The small, distinctive star carved into her arm. They _wanted_ her to know that they were watching her, and they did.

She nods, knowing he can't see her. 

"I'm going to," she struggles to blink back tears, but a sniffle manages to escape her, "I'm going to pack a bag. Meet me in the park. We'll figure it out when we meet up."

A short pause. A sharp inhale.

"My mother and I, we spent our life savings to come to America to escape them, to escape _this_ ," he whispers, sardonically, "Now look at us. My mother is dead and yours is missing."

What a sad, sad fate.

"I'll see you in an hour," she tells him.

"Stay safe, biscuit," he says softly, and the line clicks. The call ends.

An hour. She needs to be out of that apartment with no way of recognition before she calls the police to report a dead body. And the last thing she needs is to be abducted in the streets. Which... gives her an idea. 

She goes into the bathroom, opening the small medicine cabinet. Inside the cabinet contains just what she's looking for--a box of her mom's Revlon hair dye-- that's never been used. She shoves it into her backpack in case she needs it. In her room, she knows there's a bobbed black wig from her theatre club days.

She's not bothered about leaving prints at this point. Getting away is her top and only priority. She puts on the wig. There's a spare storage closet in the kitchen, next to the pantry. They keep petrol there. She takes out the container and pours from the floor of her room, into the hall, to the living room. She douses several of her mother's fixtures with petrol. 

She's sobbing, whimpering, her hands shaking unsteadily as she does this, but it's for the best. She won't be found. She'll be safe from them. From _him_. Her mom would understand.

She lights a small corner of the bedspread in her room and rushes out the ill-fated apartment before she can get hurt.

Once she's a safe distance away, she watches as the only home she's ever known burns to the ground, done by her own hand. A soundless scream falls from her lips when the stove explodes and takes out two windows. Several car alarms blared to life. She dials 911. 

It's an out of body experience as she hears herself calmly explain the situation, and the operator telling her to remain where she is, that emergency responders were on their way, that she needs to make sure no one goes back into the house to tamper with the body. 

She doesn't though. She turns, unable to bear the sight of the house on fire anymore, and flees into the night.

♤♤♤

He meets her by their favorite coffee truck, Java Jones. He pulls her into an embrace and she breaks. Tears, hot and painful, leak through her tightly closed eyelids. It's that cry-- the ugly, snotty-nosed cry-- that leaves her gasping and heaving. Her throat begins to ache. He's shaking in her embrace, fighting his own tears. He's so strong.

 _Pull yourself together_ , she can almost hear her mother snap.

She breathes deeply, once, twice, before disentangling herself from him. 

"Ready?" she asks.

"Where are we going to go?" he returns, quietly.

"Pandemonium closes at eleven and offers rooms now. It's far enough from our apartments, and it's... we only need a room for the night," she says.

"Okay," he gives a tired, small smile, "Okay. Let's go."

Neon painted patrons and loud music are common things at Pandemonium. It's a recently refurbished motel/club, reopened about a month ago.  _Elastic Heart_ by Sia blares through the inside of the club, the bass causing the tables, ground, and bar to vibrate. College-aged girls sit at the bar, taking multiple shots. Boys share blunts, and some couples grind against each other, just short of having sex on the dance floor. 

He asks for a shared room for them both. The scantily clad, androgynous person in front of them gives him a look and he glares at them. She can hear him tell them, "No, it's not like that."

Nevertheless, they hand him a key and they go up to the third floor since the second floor was for "VIP"'s. 

"Are you ok?" he asks, once they're in the privacy of their own room.

"Honestly, I just want to sleep," she tells him, "It's been a pretty rough day."

"Go to bed, then," he says, "I'll be there in a bit. I have a feeling the day's not over yet."

The last part is said so softly that she wasn't sure if it was meant for her to hear. 

♤♤♤

Like he believed, the day wasn't over yet. A few minutes after he closes eyes, gunshots ring out from the first floor. They remain put in their rooms.

Someone knocks rapidly on the door, three times in a row. She looks at him and quietly goes to the corner where her bag is placed. She draws a small pocketknife and pulls out the blade, hiding it under her jacket. The knocking turns into pounding, until she nods at him to open the door. When he complies, he's face to face with a masked man.

"You're both coming with me," he says, "And you can put the knife you've hidden so poorly down. If you refuse to come with me, then the shooting downstairs will continue."

As if to prove his point, another round of gunshots start after he finished talking.

She drops the knife, surrendering. She doesn't want innocent people getting injured. There's no time for questions. A young woman is waiting, standing on a table, gun at the ready. When she sees the masked man, she grins. The girl and her friend are ushered out the club and into a black Cadillac. The girl slips behind the wheel, but neither of them can distinguish her features in the darkness.

"Damn, you were right," her voice is heavily laced with a Spanish accent, "And to think Alec got pissed at you for wasting time tracking down Jocelyn Fray's daughter. Although he'd be more pissed that you've basically kidnapped her and are bringing her to our safe house."

"Her life was in danger," the masked man snorts, "I couldn't let her just die. Besides, you know I can handle Alec."

"Yeah," the woman retaliates by saying, "But that's only cause he wants to suck--" 

"Wait, wait, what?!" Jocelyn Fray's daughter interrupts from the back seat, "How do you know me? How do you know my mother?!"

" _Ah, ah, linda,_ " the woman croons, exaggerating the Spanish syllables, "We ask the questions here. Not you."

"But--"

"We ask the questions," she turns around, glaring at them with hauntingly beautiful brown, almost black eyes, with a hidden threat in the undertones, " _Claro?_ "

Jocelyn's daughter nods, frightened. She'd like to live to see another day, and not piss off the woman.

♤♤♤

They're taken to a small, gated and fenced house in a narrow, deserted street. The man and woman exit the car, after making sure that Jocelyn's daughter and her companion would stay put by taping their hands together, taping their mouths, and locking the car behind them. She looks at her friend, tears welling up in her eyes.

_We might die tonight._

The Spanish woman and the masked man comes back though, and unlocks the car. The masked man grabs his shoulder.

"Inside," he orders.

The woman holds Jocelyn's daughter in an embrace, holding a gun steadily to her neck. No fighting back.

Fear runs down his spine, a cold trickle that he feels in his bones, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. The area around him is dead silent, except for the one or two squeaks of various bugs. He doesn't know the area, and the walls are too high, so escaping by scaling them is impossible

They're lead to a small office inside the house. He doesn't know what to expect.

But what he didn't expect is to find himself drowning in deep, midnight blue eyes, staring back at him over a wooden desk.

**Author's Note:**

> So, to those of you that may be mad that I gave Alec blue eyes, let me defend myself by saying this-- everything is not what it seems.
> 
> DISCLAIMER:: please note that I'm not native to the US but I have a fair idea of how US Politics works (plus I'm reaserching like hell) but if I've misunderstood something or portrayed it wrongly, please do not hesitate to bring it to my attention! also note that you can bring any spelling/grammar errors to my attention, as this piece has not been beta'ed or edited.
> 
> if you liked it, be sure to leave kudos/comments (i love getting comments!) and stay tuned for more!


End file.
